


Eyes Only For You

by daysinbetween



Category: Marrissey - Fandom, The Smiths
Genre: Biting, Dirty Talk, Jealous!Johnny, Jealousy, M/M, Mostly Andy's POV, OMC is a dick, Possessive Behavior, Possibly OOC, Slight Meddling!Andy and Mike, Soft Morrissey, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:44:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10055192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daysinbetween/pseuds/daysinbetween
Summary: Morrissey's got a boyfriend.Johnny doesn't like him.*read notes for possible trigger warnings!





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! im so excited to finally post this wow! this literally took me months to write, i think ive been working on it since late summer/maybe early september???  
> anyway holy shit, this is finally done woo
> 
> pleaseeee leave me any constructive criticism you have or spelling/grammar mistakes in the comments, or just leave a comment anyway (it really motivates me, hopefully ill be able to write faster!!) if u enjoyed it!! 
> 
> plussss, if u have any marrissey fics you reaLLY want to see written, leave me a comment describing what u want to read and i might write it!! who knows, my friends, i need more ideas and i lovE this pairing omg
> 
> **(more importantly) potential triggers in this fic:**  
>  \- a little bit of an abusive relationship (there isn't a lot of detail, though)  
> \- blood (minor)  
> \- drinking (recreational)  
> \- explicit, gay sex  
> \- homophobia and homophobic slurs  
> \- attempted rape/sexual abuse  
> \- violence  
> \- cheating
> 
> it's not as scary as it sounds, i promise!! pls enjoy and remember to leave me a comment if u like!

 

Morrissey's got a boyfriend.

  
Johnny doesn't like him. Andy doesn't know why - James is great for Moz, in his opinion, anyway. They met in a park, of all places, apparently. That's what they said.

  
"He was writing, under a massive willow tree." James says in his American accent, aviators perched on his nose, arm wrapped around Moz's shoulders. "He looked so pensive and deep in thought. I was staring at him - intrigued, you know?"

  
Andy and Mike nod. Johnny sniffs, nose wrinkling. His eyes wander up Moz' boyfriend's long, jean clad legs and his garish red shirt that makes Johnny grimace.

  
James sends a fond look at Moz, who returns it. "It was at that moment my Jack Russell decided to run straight for him and slobber all over his face, and his notebook!"

  
Moz giggles sweetly, hiding his face behind his palm. He almost seems embarrassed. Mike and Andy burst out laughing through mouthfuls of the pasta that they ordered.

  
Johnny simply takes a long, large swig of his beer, eyes trained on Morrissey, who is gazing up at James, eyes loving.

  
James has taken them out for the night, wanting to meet Mozzer's friends and bandmates. When he and Johnny had met, Morrissey had been excited, so eager to introduce his best friend and his boyfriend.

  
-

  
"Johnny, this is James. We're dating." James had looped an arm around Moz's waist and grinned.

  
"Nice to meet you!" he exclaimed, his accent obvious and loud.

  
Johnny had looked up from his guitar, sat on a cushioned stool in their small practice room, and blinked, dazedly. He had been absently plucking at the guitar strings ever since James and Moz arrived together.

  
It painted a pretty melancholy picture. Andy wondered why Johnny was so morose.

  
"Hi," said Johnny. He looked to Moz and sent a small smile. Then he looked away and turned his attention back to the guitar, shoulders stiff.

  
Andy hadn't heard Johnny play like that before; it was choppy, cutting and was all in minor. He was surprised Johnny hadn't burnt a hole in the floor with the way he had been glaring at it so furiously.

  
The devoted guitarist had gone home early from practice that day, saying he had forgotten that his mum was visiting. Andy figured that sounded like bullshit, and he asked Mike about it.

  
Mike said he thought it had something to do with James' presence. The couple had been staring at each other for the entirety of their practice, and it had almost seemed like Morrissey was performing just for James. His singing was better than it normally was, and that was saying something.

  
Johnny complained the next practice, under the loud sound of their music, during Handsome Devil.

  
"Why does he have to bring him along every time?" His friend said lowly out of the corner of his mouth, glaring at the man sat on the floor gazing up at Moz as he sang.

  
"Most of the songs aren't totally finished yet, so why is Moz showing them to him? Doesn't sit right with me, I tell you."

  
Andy shrugged. "Moz likes him," he said.

  
"What?" Johnny met his eyes.

  
"I said, Moz likes him. So he's bound to show him his music, right?" Andy shrugged.

  
Johnny huffed, his playing still immaculate regardless of the conversation he was having and the angry looks he kept throwing James' way.

  
"No, it's _our_ music. Me and Moz. And yours and Mike's. Not his," Johnny huffed again. Andy raised an eyebrow, wondering why Johnny was acting so melodramatic.

  
"Can James even play an instrument? I bet he can't. Look at his hands," Johnny nodded in James' direction. The man in question didn't seem to notice Johnny's icy stare, eyes locked on Morrissey, who was halfway through the song.

  
"What's wrong with his hands?" Andy squinted at James. Were they too small, or stumpy? Were they covered in warts? What was Johnny on about?

  
"Can't you see? Come on, you can just tell, look. He wouldn't be able to handle a guitar properly." exclaimed Johnny confidently. Andy blinked at him, confused.

  
"And his hair. The way he has it in that stupid style, that weird fringe in front of his face. It's probably dyed black, too. And what kind of arsehole wears sunglasses inside? Is he trying to be cool? Someone tell him it's not working, God forbid. Why is Moz dating an American, anyway? He'd be better off with someone from here, someone who knows what it's like to grow up in the UK. Someone who lives in Manchester would be better. Not there. He doesn't understand Moz at all."

  
"You don't like James?" Andy was so confused. "But he's great for Mozzer. He's been so happy recently."

  
Johnny frowned. "Yeah, I guess. I thought that was because of the new songs we wrote together."

  
"Oh? You wrote new songs? Can I hear-"

  
"They aren't finished yet," Johnny cut him off. "We can show you later. Maybe James too," he sighed. "If Moz hasn't shown him already."

  
Moz moved into the chorus. Andy thought his singing was wonderful, and sounded really good with their sound. He especially loved this part.

  
"Who will swallow whom? You handsome devil," he sang. He leant forward as he did so, towards James, who was now standing up, close to the stage. Moz was being playful, singing in a sultry voice, grinning.

  
"Let me get my hands, on your mammary glands..."

  
Moz's eyes were dark. Andy felt like he was intruding. Next to him, Johnny had gone tense.

  
James was leaning in too. The two were close, their faces about a foot away from each other. James was licking his lips, and so was Moz, and his eyes were flicking between staring deep into Moz's and looking at his lips.

  
The energy radiating off of them was palpable, a massive elephant in the room.

  
He could faintly hear a growl from next to him. Was that a growl? Andy chalked it up to being a dodgy pluck or something from Johnny.

  
"And let me get your head on the conjugal bed... I say, I say-"

  
As Morrissey leant in closer to James, on the second 'I say', a loud, ear-piercing, shrill _Clang!_ was heard from Andy's right. Mike and Andy ceased their playing abruptly, and the four of them turned to look at Johnny, alarmed. Johnny had managed to snap a guitar string.

  
"Shit," uttered Johnny under his breath, looking down at his hands, eyes wide.

  
Moz stepped away from James, returning to the present, and Johnny seemed to relax a little, his breathing still heavy.

  
"You twat!" Mike said angrily from behind them, sat behind his kit. "It'll take you days to get that repaired. We were supposed to meet again tomorrow."

  
"I know. I'm sorry," said Johnny miserably, removing the guitar from around his neck and setting it down.

  
Morrissey approached them quickly, still holding his microphone, thankfully turned off.

  
"What was that?" he asked. As always, his voice was soft, the special tone he reserved only for Johnny. Andy always felt the urge to protect him, as they all did. Johnny looked up at him, eyes wide.

  
"I don't know," he answered. The guitarist wiped a tired hand over his brow, seemingly tired and slightly pissed off, if his earlier words were anything to go by. Andy wondered what James had done to piss Johnny off so much.

  
"You're normally so gentle with your hands..." Morrissey said, tilting his head, eyeing the guitarist's long fingers. Johnny flushed, turning pink.

  
"I guess I just got too... into it." Johnny shrugged. "I'll have it repaired by Friday."

  
"Oh, that's a shame, John." James said, walking to stand beside Morrissey and tucking an arm around his narrow waist. Moz leant into the touch as Johnny glowered at the American, his mood turned sour.

  
"Yes." Johnny replied curtly. He picked up the guitar and zipped it back into its large case. Andy begun to do the same with his bass, realising the session was over.

  
"Hey, we're going out," said Morrissey, addressing them all. Johnny's head snapped up, maroon eyes immediately fixed on Moz. "For dinner. Want to come with?"

  
"Cool, I'm in." Mike replied.

  
"Sure." said Andy, smiling at the couple. "Where are we going?"

  
"We were thinking Benephisto's," answered James. "How about it, Johnny?"

  
"Hm?" Johnny seemed distracted, eyes focused on the arm around Moz's waist, his fist clenching and unclenching. "Oh, yeah. Sure. What time?"

  
"We were thinking around eight." Moz said, and Johnny looked up at the sound of his voice. Moz smiled at him. "I'll see you there."

  
Johnny smiled back. The two stared at each other for a moment.

  
The guitarist cleared his throat, breaking his gaze to look to the floor. Behind him, Mike rolled his eyes.

  
"Right. Well, I'll see you there. At eight." Johnny sent a quick wave to Mike and Andy. He then left the room, guitar on his back. Morrissey stared after him.

  
Andy, still feeling confused, wanted to ask Mike about what Johnny had said during the song. He waited until James and Moz had said their goodbyes and left, and awkwardly stood next to Mike until he got the hint.

  
"Andy, what is it?" Mike said. He was polishing his drumsticks with an old, faded yellow cloth.

 

"How did you know I had something to ask?" Andy blinked.

  
"Mate, you've been standing next to my kit for the past five minutes," Mike laughed. "Now what did you want to ask?"

  
"Erm," Andy said eloquently. "Johnny was pretty wound up today."

  
"Yeah, I noticed. That's the first time he's snapped a string since Moz took his shirt off on stage for the first time," Mike rolled his eyes, but smirked at the memory.

  
"I always wondered why he freaked out so badly about that," Andy shrugged.

  
Mike paused his cleaning, and looked up. "You.. don't know?"

  
Andy had spent too much of that day feeling confused. "Know what?"

  
"You seriously haven't figured it out?"

  
"What?!"

  
"Johnny's in love with Moz!" Mike laughed. "Come on. It's too fucking obvious. Think about it. We haven't seen Johnny this upset since Claire left for uni, right? Moz and James are about to start getting it on right in front of us, remind me to thank them very much for that, and Johnny goes and breaks a fucking nail because he can't stand seeing his crush smile at someone else."

  
"It was more than that, you saw them."

   
"Okay, fine. He can't stand seeing the love of his life eye-fuck someone else."

  
"That explains a lot, actually. He kept talking about how awful James was for Moz today. Insulted his hands. And his hair." Andy chuckled.

  
"James' hair?" Mike shook his head, laughing. "You mean the hair that looks identical to Johnny's? Black, with that fringe?"

  
Andy gasped. "I never noticed that!"

  
"My God, you truly are oblivious. James and Johnny look almost identical, mate."

  
"Crikey," Andy thought for a moment. "And the sunglasses!"

  
"Yes, you're catching on!" Mike stood up and placed his drumsticks in their case.

  
"So... Moz's boyfriend looks exactly like Johnny, why?"

  
Mike looked at him and rolled his eyes once more. "Because he loves Johnny back, you wanker. As far as anybody but us knows, Johnny Marr is as straight as a ruler. So Moz had to have the next best thing, yeah? A guy who looks like Johnny."

  
"Bloody hell," said Andy. A pause. "What are we going to do about it?"

  
The drummer packed his bag and hiked it over his shoulder. He shrugged.

  
"I don't know. But I'm getting pretty tired of having to see, hear and breathe Johnny's pining all the bloody time. And his jealousy. Also, to be honest, I would actually like to get some practice done. However, Moz seems happy, and I'm not about to go and just break him and James up," Mike sighed.

  
"True. Me neither." Andy and Mike left the building, shutting the heavy door behind them.

  
"We'll have to think about it. But if something's gonna be done, it's gotta be done by either Moz or Johnny themselves, yeah?" Mike said as they began their walk to the car park.

  
"Yeah. So basically we need to find a way to get them to get themselves together." Andy realised. They looked at each other.

  
"Should be easy."

  
-

  
Andy's whole view of this slightly fucked up situation had changed drastically.

  
He saw Johnny's actions in a different light - throughout the meal, the guitarist continued to sulk and send dirty looks in James direction. His eyes softened when they looked at Moz though.

  
Tonight, the singer was wearing a spotted pink shirt underneath a soft, light pink jumper, and he had donned a beaded, long, brown necklace which traveled down his skinny chest.

  
On anyone else it would've looked a little bit ridiculous, but Moz looked good and if anyone tried to insult him for wearing pink or jewellery Andy would not hesitate to knock their lights out. He was sure everyone else sat at this table agreed with him.

  
He and Mike had ordered spaghetti bolognese, which was apparently the most unimaginative and soulless choice on Earth according to Moz. Andy had simply flipped him the bird and slurped up a long spaghetti noodle, Mike and James laughing when they saw Moz' affronted (but entertained nonetheless) reaction.

  
James and Moz ordered the same thing, some Vegetarian concoction, which made Johnny clench his fists under the table. Mike and Andy had to conceal their laughter after Mike noticed and nudged Andy to notify him of it. He really was melodramatic.

  
Johnny wasn't saying much. He kept his eyes trained on the table, Morrissey, or Moz's and James' points of contact. Elbows, shoulders (the two so close they were pressed together), hands (held, sat on the table).

  
Andy knew why, now, which changed a lot. It was kind of adorable. He and Mike kept sending exasperated glances to each other. They weren't sure how much more they could take of this.

  
James had been kind, charismatic and funny throughout the entire evening, which seemed to upset Johnny even further. The man was very charming.

  
"So yes, not the best first impression to make, I admit. Still, it seemed to work, didn't it?" James grinned and leaned down to kiss the top of Moz's bequiffed head, who was tucked neatly into his side.

  
"It would seem so," said Moz quietly, his face tinged pink, matching his jumper. Johnny had a small smile on his face when he looked at him, although he looked incredibly sad still. Andy felt bad seeing his friend so upset.

  
"Mike, could I talk to you outside for a moment please?" said Andy, standing up. Moz blinked up at him confusedly, as did James. Johnny pleaded with his eyes, saying Please don't leave me with them alone, dear God, I don't think I can do this.

  
"Sure," said Mike quickly. They hurried away from the table and to the outside of the Italian restaurant, stood in the cold Manchester night air.

  
"This is unbearable." said Andy. "I don't think I can handle much more of this. He's so sad, Mike..."

  
"I agree, it's bloody awful to watch."

  
"We have to do something!"

  
"But what can we do?" Mike crossed his arms and sighed. "We have to hint somehow. To Moz. About how Johnny's feeling."

  
"Like... 'Oh, Johnny seemed upset over dinner...!'. That sort of thing?"

  
"I can't think of anything else. So why not." Mike grinned.

  
-

  
The next week, they had practise. Andy and Mike had been corresponding over the past week, discussing what would be the best thing to say to Morrissey.  
They were sat in their cramped practise room on the uncomfortable stools, waiting for Johnny and Moz to arrive.

  
"Or how about a joke: How many times does Johnny have to shit himself whenever James and Morrissey breathe in each other's presence until Moz finally clocks it and takes the fucking hint?" suggests Mike. Andy huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

  
"How about, "Moz, I really don't mean to alarm you, but you realise Johnny loves you back, right? Oh no, don't faint!" said Mike, flipping a drumstick skilfully and catching it with ease.

  
"That sure would be the efficient option," replies Andy, sighing.

  
"What would?" came the voice of Moz, followed by Johnny's quiet "What are we talking about?" from behind the tall singer, Johnny following him closely as the two entered the room.

  
"Nothing!" yelped Andy. Mike sniggered.

  
"We gotta practice. We doin' Barbarism?" the drummer asked.

  
"Yes!" said Johnny eagerly, grinning. Andy felt glad to have his friend's usual self back.

  
"No James today, Mozzer?" asked Mike, oh so casually as they began to set up their instruments. Andy flicked his eyes to Moz, who licked his lips at the question and looked at the floor nervously. Johnny pretended that he wasn't as interested as he was, Andy could tell, with one hand twisting a tuner and the other gripping his instrument tightly.

  
"No, not today." Moz replied simply.

  
"Why not?" asked Johnny in a quiet voice. Morrissey's head lifted, and the two made eye contact.

  
"He's busy doing something else, I would suspect." Moz shrugged and turned away from the three of them, who were staring at him curiously. The singer fiddled with the microphone stand, clad in a loose light blue shirt.

  
"He didn't tell you?" Andy frowned. Was that normal? He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, and looked to Mike worriedly. What the fuck had James going off and doing stuff that Moz supposedly didn't know about?

  
Or was he just being paranoid? He had no idea of what ways same sex relationships differed from straight ones, as he was only ever in the latter. Did couples usually do that? Was he worrying about nothing? But Moz looked so...

  
Mike raised an eyebrow. "Moz? Y'alright?"

  
"Yes, I'm fine. Shall we begin?" he asked, sounding slightly desperate and eager to change the subject.

  
"Yes," Johnny quickly began to play the beginning chords to Barbarism Begins at Home, a song they all loved, seemingly happy to relieve Moz of his discomfort.

  
By the end of their practise, Andy had gotten so absorbed in the music that he almost forgot what he and Mike had agreed to talk to Moz about. Thankfully, when Johnny and Moz weren't looking, too busy packing up, Mike nudged him and whispered in his ear.

  
"Go on, talk to him." he said lowly. "We agreed, yeah?"

  
Andy's eyes widened, and he stilled in putting his bass away. "Why do I have to do it?"

  
Mike clapped him on the shoulder. Suddenly he called loudly, "Johnny! Mind showing me which vending machine you got those fags from the other day? They were the dog's bollocks."

  
Johnny laughed, pulling his guitar case onto his back. "Alright. And I wish you'd stop saying that, mate."

  
"Whatever." Mike grinned cheekily and followed Johnny out of the room, leaving Andy and Moz alone. Andy swallowed, looking at the man in his peripheral vision.

  
"Are you alright, Andy?" Morrissey asked, frowning. "You seem a bit tired. Maybe you should rest."

  
"Nah, I'm alright, you tosser." Andy grinned. He hoped it didn't look like more of a grimace, but judging by the look on Moz's face, he didn't do a very good job of it.

  
"Okay," said Moz, nodding. Andy decided to just be out with it.

  
"Don't you think Johnny's been acting a little dodgy as of late?" Andy grimaced, unbidden and without shame this time. Morrissey blinked.

  
"What do you mean?" he frowned again, confused.

  
Andy leant on a small table and crossed his arms, licking his lips nervously.

  
"I just mean, like," he swallowed. "You know."

  
Morrissey blinked, harder this time, and turned to face him. "I don't know what you mean, Andy."

  
"I mean! Like... like when he broke his guitar string the other day. Geared up and all that. Pissed."

  
"I suppose it was rather odd..."

  
"Yep, yeah it was! Yes. And, and I've been thinking-"

  
"Dangerous."

  
"Wanker. Er, I've been thinking, why? He only ever seems to get so pissed when... like, when James is around, have you noticed that?" Andy was sweating. God, why the fuck hadn't Mike mentioned this would be so bloody difficult?

  
"James?" Moz looked to the floor. "Now I think about it... that does sound accurate."

  
"Yeah, yeah! And when we went to that- that Italian place, Bene- something or other, and he barely ate. Just got plastered."

  
"Quite." Morrissey seemed to be thinking. "Why do you think that is?"

  
"Er," Andy swallowed. "M-Maybe, he just really doesn't like James."

  
His friend frowned. "But why not?"

  
Andy wanted to tear his hair out in frustration.

  
"I dunno," he managed to choke out. "You could ask him?"

  
That was a step in the right direction, right?

  
Moz thought for a moment, deliberating. Then he nodded. "I will do that."

  
"Great! Cool. I mean-" Andy flushed. Morrissey stared at him.

  
"Are you sure you're alright-"

  
"Hello!" Mike said loudly as he and Johnny entered the room, as if to alert them of their arrival. In an extremely obvious way.

  
"Hello," replied Moz, shooting one last concerned look in Andy's direction before turning his attention to the other occupants of the room.

  
Johnny's eyes shifted between Moz and Andy, frowning, noting Andy's overly casual stance and his flushed appearance.

  
Oh fuck, he knew Mike should've done it, he's more composed! Johnny's gonna think he and Moz had been shagging, why was he such a useless dickhead?  
"Johnny and I were just saying we should go out for the night." Mike grinned.

  
Moz groaned. "A night out? On the town? Clubbing? Dear Lord, I can't even fathom a more horrific way to spend an evening-"

  
"Great!" said Mike. "So we'll meet at the town centre at about half eight?"

  
"Alright," replied Andy and Johnny in tandem, smirking at Moz. The singer groaned dramatically.

  
Morrissey quickly left the room, still groaning. Johnny followed him and began teasing him and snickering loudly. Mike and Andy shared a look.  
Mike waited until Moz and Johnny were out of earshot until he said, "Did you do it?"

  
"I think so?" Andy cringed. "Maybe?"

  
"What?" Mike slapped a hand to his face, exasperated. "What did you say to him?"

  
"I asked him whether he thought Johnny had been acting odd as of late. He agreed. Then I asked why he thought that was. He didn't know. Then I said it usually happens around James. So I told him the reason Johnny could be so pissed off around James could be because maybe Johnny hates him. After that Mozzer asked why Johnny would dislike his boyfriend. So I told him to ask Johnny himself. He said he would." Andy cringed again.

  
"Yes, you did it!" Mike punched the air triumphantly. "Soon we will be able to start practicing songs for real again."

  
"Hey, we did alright today, didn't we?"

  
"Not with your input," Mike grinned, teasing him.

  
"Oi!"

  
-

  
Johnny was snickering. It was irritating.

  
They were stood in line outside the club that Mike had taken them to. He had said it was where everyone was going. Andy thought it bloody well seemed like it, with how long they had been standing out there in the freezing Manchester night air.

  
Morrissey was pouting, which was making Johnny snicker. Mike kept shoving him playfully, and the tall singer had almost fallen into the massive, hard bloke waiting in front of him with his mates (who were, gratefully, 4 more massive, hard blokes) way too many times for Andy's liking. He didn't want them all to go home sporting a black eye. Tonight was meant to relax them. At least that was what Mike had said.

  
It was starting to get annoying, the way Johnny and Moz kept looking at each other. Always when they thought the other wouldn't notice, all coy, licking their lips and shit. Andy couldn't wait until they would just go at it and get it out of their systems, for fuck's sake.

  
"Fucking hell, how long have we been out here?" he asked Mike, who was standing a foot away from him.

The queue was cramped. Andy decided it was awful.

  
Mike, shivering, glanced at his watch. He then groaned. Morrissey groaned too, just because he was cold and he didn't even want to be there in the first place. _And because he's a tosser,_ Andy figured.

  
"About an hour." he said, teeth chattering as he shivered. Andy joined in with their chorus of groans.

  
"Brilliant," Johnny said. And then groaned again.

  
-

  
A half hour later, they were let into the club. After shaking off the cold, Mike quickly elbowed them through the masses until they reached the bar. A round of drinks was ordered.

  
Johnny grabbed his and quickly began chugging it down vigorously - so much, in fact, that the liquid spilled over the sides and splashed down his long neck and onto the mustard yellow collar of his jumper.

  
Johnny, however, didn't appear to notice, and continued to chug down his beer.

  
"Careful, mate," said Mike, his drink held to his lips, eyeing Johnny. He looked a little bit worried but also strangely impressed.

  
Morrissey was leaning on the bar. His bright eyes traveled the length of the club disdainfully, taking in the dancefloor and the large sweaty mass of dancing bodies upon it.

  
His ears were being attacked by the obnoxiously loud dance music and his nose crinkled when he scowled. Andy laughed at him and sipped his drink. _Idiot_ , he thought fondly.

  
"What are we doing here?" Moz asked irritably.

  
"We're about to have a good time," answered Andy, smiling cheerfully and slapping the taller boy on the back good naturedly.

  
"Yeah!" agreed Mike, nodding. "Eh, Johnny?"

  
Johnny shrugged, eyes flicking to watch the length of Morrissey's pale neck as he leant backwards to swallow his vodka.

  
Andy looked between them, Morrissey with his eyes closed and head tilted back to allow the drink to slip down his throat, and Johnny with his left hand clenched where it sat on the bartop and his other wedged in his pocket, his gaze never leaving Morrissey.

  
Andy eyes met Mike's and he gestured between the two and sent an urgent look to the drummer. He mouthed _Do something! Look at them!_

  
Mike shrugged. He took a massive swig of his beer and finished it. "I'm going to dance. You coming?"

  
Johnny barely dragged his eyes away from Morrissey, looking to Mike, lost.

  
"Coming where?" he asked, his gaze straying back to the singer who was inching away from a man who had stood too close to him at the bar, throwing a disgusted sort of look at the man over his shoulder. Andy felt fond looking at him.

  
Mike sighed and grabbed Johnny by the back of his collar, pulling the boy away from the bar and almost making Johnny trip over backwards. He shrieked loudly, making many people look their way.

  
Andy grinned, watching them. Mike gave Johnny one great push towards the dancefloor, and Johnny stumbled forward precariously (already a little bit tipsy from the alcohol) before his small body disappeared in the dancing crowd.

  
Morrissey, already ordering another drink, didn't notice when Andy pulled Mike to the side to hiss at him.

  
"We have to do something about them!"

  
It was starting to get extremely ridiculous. All the side-long glances, the fumbling and blushing and the fact Morrissey and Johnny couldn't actually be in the same room without dropping whatever they were holding at least twice.

  
Johnny's brown eyes following the man's every move, his embarrassingly obvious red hot jealousy when James was around, and God forbid when Morrissey touched his boyfriend.

  
Morrissey getting adorably flustered, awkward and shy around Johnny, which made Andy feel very protective of him. But most of all, it made him feel pissed off that Johnny hadn't done something sooner, even before James had appeared. It had been months since their feelings for each other had started to become so obvious that Mike and Andy had noticed. He hoped that a nudge in the right direction could help them along a bit.

  
Did it bother him that Morrissey already had a boyfriend? It did, if he was honest.

  
But he also knew that Johnny and Moz would be perfect together, given the chance. It wasn't as if he and Mike were actively rooting for Morrissey to cheat on James - that would be out of order. They just wanted to get the two bastards to sort themselves out and recognise what their feelings meant, and most importantly, do something about it.

  
However, Andy suspected Mike was more concerned with actually getting some real practice in. It had been a while since they'd had a good, proper session, even though Moz and Johnny were throwing out lyrics and chords left and right. What were the use of them, though, when Johnny stumbled everytime Morrissey made eye contact with him when singing, and Moz couldn't keep his eyes off the way Johnny's lithe fingers moved on the guitar? How were they going to release anything like this?

  
The red, flickering lights of the club cast scarlet shadows over Mike's browbone and cheekbones, illuminating them, and he grinned devilishly.

  
"Trust me, I'm doing something. I think it's Mozzer's turn to feel a little green."

  
Andy blinked. "What?" Mike wanted Moz to feel sick?

  
"Jealous, you plonker," Mike rolled his eyes. "Watch."

  
Suddenly, the music playing over the speakers changed to a slow, sultry song that made the crowd whoop enthusiastically. Andy watched as they seemed to come together in twos, each finding partners. The first chords of the song began, low notes that had people's hips swaying and hot sweat appear on their foreheads under the heat.

  
Andy noticed Morrissey realise this change and tense uncomfortably.

  
Sex had always alarmed him, and the change of atmosphere in the club was undoubtedly making Moz feel overwhelmed, uncomfortable and out of place watching the gyrating bodies working together. The man sipped his drink nervously.

  
"There, look, in the middle. Johnny," Mike leant against the wall, watching.

  
It would have seemed a little bit odd, Mike's hot gaze fixed upon his bandmate in that way, ( _Who was he trying to match up, Mike and Johnny now?_ ) if Andy didn't notice that Mike's gaze was actually locked on the girl who had her body plastered to Johnny's front.

  
Andy stole a worried glance at Morrissey, who had seemingly noticed Johnny as well. The shadows that obstructed anyone who wasn't in a 1 meter radius seeing Mike and Andy against the dark painted wall allowed Andy to stare openly between the two.

  
However, Morrissey's staring (stood by himself at the bar, third drink in hand) was so achingly obvious that it was painful to watch. A bright pink flush appeared high on Moz's cheekbones as he watched Johnny sway his hips to the slow, sensual beat of the song.

  
Johnny had his hands placed on the girl's hips, letting them travel up and down the sides of her body until she was gripping the back of his head desperately, tufts of his black hair in between her fingers.

  
Their eye contact never faltered, and their hips were committed to the rhythm of the song, slowly gyrating until Johnny gripped the back of her head and attached his lips to her neck.

  
Andy looked back to Morrissey, who had his fist clenched by his side, his flush having travelled down his cheekbones to his neck and below the collar of his shirt. He had no doubt that Moz's bony torso would be lit up endearingly with bright pink patches. In his hand his neglected drink sat clutched tightly, so hard that Andy could see the whites in Moz's knuckles appear.

  
The singer's eyes never left the way Johnny's body moved, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed when Johnny began to bite at the girl's neck. Morrissey's previously clenched fist left his side and lifted up to his own neck, tracing the contours of his skeletal structure, following the path that Johnny set on the unnamed girl's neck. Andy felt a little sad for Morrissey, then.

  
"Johnny's doing a good job, ain't he?" Mike hissed and then huffed a laugh. "The way she's gone completely limp in his arms..."

  
Andy nodded, smirking. "Yeah. Have you seen what Moz is doing, if you can stop looking at her for one minute?"

  
Mike managed to drag his gaze away from her to look at Morrissey. He had started glaring at the girl Johnny was holding (and was now kissing fiercely), appearing to have noticed that it wasn't him.

  
"God. Someone help him, he's bright red." Mike uttered.

  
"He looks proper pissed." Andy agreed.

  
"Oh my God." Mike began to laugh quietly, shaking his head, standing up properly. "I'm getting another drink, you coming?"

  
Andy nodded in reply. "Yeah, mate."

  
Once they had reached the bar, Andy approached Morrissey. The man didn't appear to notice his presence, given that his attention was entirely focused on Johnny and the girl.

  
He rolled his eyes. As he stepped closer to tap Moz on the back, he could hear a low sound emit from Moz's throat. Was that a growl? _Jesus Christ,_ not Moz too...

  
Andy nudged him. Moz turned to face him, alarmed, the quiet growl coming to an abrupt halt.

  
"You alright?" he asked. He felt concerned.

  
Morrissey swallowed and clutched his drink like a lifeline. His gaze continuously swayed to Johnny, over Andy's shoulder - He could see the way Morrissey's thick eyebrows furrowed slightly at the sight of Johnny with somebody else so intimately.

  
"Y-yes," Morrissey answered, and managed to revert his gaze back to Andy, offering a small smile. "Why?"

  
"You look a little flushed. Worked up, you know." Andy shrugged. He didn't want to make Morrissey feel self-conscious about how obvious his furious jealousy was. It was better to leave it for another time.

  
"I'm alright. I might visit the restroom for a moment, though. Excuse me." Quickly, Morrissey left his drink upon the bartop and turned around. His long legs carried him away from Johnny, the girl and Andy respectively. Andy watched the tall man depart with a contemplative frown on his face. _Hmm._

  
Mike appeared with drinks in his hands, and handed one to Andy. It was a bright blue colour.

  
"Hey, where'd Moz go?" Mike asked curiously, looking around them and taking a sip of his beer.

  
When Andy took the drink from his friend, it took him a moment to register that his drink wasn't a beer.

  
"The fuck?" he spluttered, holding the glass up to inspect its contents. "What is this?!"

  
Mike giggled, an odd sound. He must already be drunk.

  
"They called it the Azure Atrocity," he said, one long finger tapping the glass. Andy looked affronted, and raised an eyebrow.

  
"Seriously? God, they're right. It is atrocious. Why have I got it?"

  
"I asked them to surprise me," Mike leant forward, inching into Andy's space, so much so that Andy could taste the alcohol on Mike's breath when he spoke, hot puffs of air in the small space between them.

  
"Because, you," Mike swayed where he stood, almost falling into Andy, but managed to place a finger on Andy's chest mock confrontationally. "... Need to loosen up."

  
"Oh yeah?" Andy laughed. "So you asked for a 'surprise'?"

  
Mike grinned widely. "Well? Are you surprised?"

  
Andy drank some of the drink, Mike watching him closely - and spluttered again.

  
"Fuck. It's sweet. Yes, I'm surprised."

 

-

 

Morrissey entered the loo, the door hitting the wall with a _bang!_ when he pushed it open forcefully. He could still feel the hot flush creeping up his neck, crawling down his torso. He shivered.

  
There was nobody else in the bathroom, so nobody could witness it when he splashed cold water on his face in a fruitless attempt to right himself.

  
God. This wasn't like him at _all._

  
He wasn't even entirely sure what had him so agitated. He had been absently staring at the crowd, sipping his drink. He ran his eyes over any person that could hold his interest for any length of time before he grew bored. Some tried to get him to join them, but he would hold up an apologetic hand and shake his head to decline.

  
Then he noticed Johnny. Johnny was able to hold his attention for longer periods of time than most ( _read: all_ ), and it was no exception this time.

  
Morrissey had allowed himself to drink in the sight Johnny made, long limbs uncoordinated and dark brown eyes glazed over with his inebriation.

  
He had allowed himself to watch as Johnny danced to the music, safe in the knowledge that no one truly cared, or would not be able to decipher just who he was staring at and, especially, what their gender was.

  
Morrissey had been admiring Johnny, who was dancing alone, seemingly lost in the music. Normally the boy would be embarrassed to be seen moving like he was, but Johnny was in no state to care just then.

  
Then the music changed. It was a sultry tune, with a heavy bassline that had the crowd whooping. Morrissey realised then that the atmosphere was going to change to one that was sexual. He had felt his heart tighten in panic, overwhelmed. Quickly, his hands turned sweaty and he licked his lips nervously, clutching his glass like a vice.

  
He had been about to turn away and order another drink when he noticed that Johnny's demeanour had changed too. And he was dancing with somebody else.

  
If you could even call it that, dancing. It looked more like obscene humping, in his inexperienced view. Morrissey felt himself clench his fists tightly, unwittingly, as the picture returned to his mind. He could remember the way Johnny looked and the way his lithe body moved in the dark, hardly discernible because of the low light.

However, the vivid lights had given Morrissey ample opportunity to watch him as much as he could without Johnny actually noticing.

  
Not that he would have noticed, Morrissey reminded himself, Johnny had been attached to a person. Sucking on her neck. An activity that sounded distasteful and improper in theory. But the more that Morrissey had allowed himself to watch, the more he realised that he quite liked the thought of having somebody be with him so intimately.

  
( _Johnny._ )

  
He leant over the sink, holding himself up with his arms. He sighed.

  
He and James hadn't done a lot of things, just some kissing. Morrissey hadn't yet felt comfortable enough to allow James to touch him properly that way. Not yet.

  
He could tell that James wanted to, though. And it had been a matter of months. Soon he would grow impatient and choose to leave him for somebody else, somebody better. James had been spending a large amount of time away from him - not that that was inherently a bad thing, he supposed (he didn't really know. How much time did couples spend apart?), but James had made no effort to inform Morrissey of what he was doing at any time.

  
There was no little chance that James had been doing things with other people on the side. In fact, there was a high one. It had been weeks. He had even caught James lying, once - his boyfriend had said he would be spending time with a friend, and Morrissey had run into said friend in town. (Their interaction with each other was awkward and stilted. Typical, Morrissey supposed.)

  
He hadn't confessed much of this, at all, to his friends. He was ashamed and he didn't want them to know that he was an unsatisfying partner. Mostly, he didn't want Johnny to know.

  
Morrissey had noticed how James had begun to get progressively short with him, after they would spend some time kissing and it would get more heated, and then Morrissey would ask James to stop. He would roll his eyes and act coldly, turning away and getting increasingly irritated when Moz would try to fix it or come up with a compromise. Morrissey felt pressured. But he couldn't help that he wasn't ready. Maybe James just wasn't the right person.

  
His eyes shut tightly and tears threatened to spill over at the thought. He knew who _was_ the right person.

  
_Shut up. Stop._

  
Morrissey jumped when the door slammed open, straightening and fumbling wildly. What if they recognised him, and knew he was crying in a club bathroom at midnight? It would spread, and then the band would know, and Johnny would ask _why_ -

  
That was the moment that Morrissey actually saw who had entered. _What,_ entered really; a couple, entangled in each other, kissing fiercely. His cheeks flamed red when he saw some hands stray, groping and pulling at certain areas. They hadn't yet noticed him.

  
It was then that Morrissey ascertained exactly who had stumbled in, kissing somebody else, someone who was decidedly _not his boyfriend_. His boyfriend, standing and watching them. It was _James_.

  
James' eyes flicked open, widening when they saw Morrissey standing there, eyes wide and in shock. He sprang back wildly, as if the girl he was attached to had burned him.

  
"Steven!" he exclaimed loudly.

The girl stepped back and looked confused and a little bit irritated.

  
"James," Morrissey felt anger and shame well up inside him. "What are you doing?"

  
"It's nothing, baby," said James, stepping in close to him, his hands (his _hands, hands that had been unfaithful, deceitful, had made him look like a joke...)_ lifting to cradle Morrissey's flushed face, a frankly shit attempt to placate him. He knocked the hands away.

  
"Don't touch me," he hissed. "Please."

  
The girl's eyes narrowed when she realised that they were together ( _were_ ), and her expression twisted into one of disgust. She spat at them and it hit the tiled bathroom floor, close to him, but he barely noticed, too focused on the burning humiliation and crushing self-reproach he was feeling.

  
" _Faggots,_ " Morrissey heard her say, before she left the room quickly.

  
"Come on," James urged, making the effort to sound reassuring. Or patronising.

  
"No," Morrissey spoke. "Just- just please, I don't want to hear it."

  
"Baby-" James cooed, his bloody hands still trying to worm their way around Morrissey's waist.

  
"James! _Piss off!_ " Morrissey tried to pry his hands away, to get him to go away.

  
James' presence was suffocating, it was pushing on him at all sides. Suddenly, Morrissey was pushed against the hard, cold wall and was being kissed.  
It was sloppy and uncoordinated and so achingly wrong. _He didn't want this!_

  
Panic tore its way up his throat and Morrissey scrabbled against the hold James had taken on his skinny ( _weak, so bloody weak, fuck!_ ) wrists, holding them up against the stained tiles roughly.

  
James broke their mouths apart, and hissed at him, voice stained with malice and their faces close together.

  
"It's your fault," he said acidly. "I wouldn't have had to do this, to use other people, if you wouldn't have been such a bloody _girl_ about it."

  
Morrissey tried to get away, but it was no use. He was stuck. Tears slipped down his cheeks at James' words. _God, he was right._

  
"I would have liked to, you know. You've got a great body, Steve. It's slim and pale and long. We could have had so much fun. If only you weren't _you."_

  
James' words slipped into his head like snakes and hissed at him, bruising his fucking skull. His shoulders and neck ached from straining to get away.

  
Then James was shoved away from him, roughly, and his eyes flew open.

  
_Johnny!_

  
"Oi, what the fuck?" James exclaimed, caught.

  
Morrissey stood pressed against the wall and watched as Johnny, livid, leant back and punched James in the jaw. The man stumbled onto the floor with the impact, falling clumsily.

  
"Don't fucking go near him," Johnny hissed furiously.

He kicked James' side where he was sprawled, bleeding, and the man fell back where he had been trying to get up. Johnny did it again, and again, uncontrollable, and Morrissey could hear growls coming from him. He looked like a bloody _animal._

  
Morrissey swallowed and tried to stop fucking shaking. When James stopped moving or making any sounds, Moz approached Johnny and cautiously placed a hand on his shoulder.

  
Johnny ceased immediately. He was breathing heavily and his face was red, his hair poking up every which way.

  
"Johnny," he said. He made his voice gentle in an attempt to be soothing. "It's alright."

  
"No it's not," Johnny sounded enraged. "He was forcing you- You were crying," Johnny's hands curled into fists and he looked down upon James' bruised body with renewed fury, brown eyes ablaze.

  
Morrissey felt despair. Why did this have to happen?

  
"Johnny, can we just leave it? Please." Johnny met his eyes as he spoke. "We can discuss it later. I'd prefer to just go now. Please?"

  
Johnny swallowed and deflated.

  
"Okay. Whatever you want, Moz, it's alright."

  
Morrissey smiled shakily. "Thank you," he uttered.

  
They left James in there, bleeding crimson onto the tiles.

  
-

  
Andy and Mike looked concerned, but asked no questions when Morrissey begged to leave. Johnny came with him, and they travelled back to Morrissey's flat in silence.

  
When they entered his modest flat, Johnny shucked off his boots and jacket and shuffled into the living room. Morrissey did the same and followed him. Johnny was slumped on the sofa when he walked in. He looked small.

  
Tentatively, Morrissey joined him on the couch, leaving some space between them. Johnny had a pensive look on his face, illuminated by the light from the streetlamps shining through the dark of the living room onto him. They hadn't bothered to turn on the light, and it was nearing quarter to one in the morning.  
Johnny sighed and turned to him.

  
"D'you want to talk about it?" he asked. "It's alright if you don't. I won't force you. I'm up for whatever you feel like you wanna do. Talk, lay here or sleep, watch TV, order takeaway - it's all fine."

  
Morrissey nodded and smiled. "Thank you. Do you mind if we... just sleep? I'm sorry."

  
Johnny sat up. "Don't be sorry, Moz, like I said. It's whatever you want."

  
Moz felt warmth in his chest, feeling like dozens of flowers blooming bright colours of pink and red and lilac inside him. A small smile escaped onto his face at the feeling. Johnny's eyes became warm and golden, probing and searching Moz's microexpressions for any signs of unrest.

But right then, with Johnny, in the dim, somber light of Moz's cramped living room, he felt nothing but peace.

  
"Why are you smiling?" Johnny uttered. He looked so fond. Moz swallowed.

  
"I feel peaceful," he replied, his voice sounding almost reticent.

  
A grin appeared on Johnny's face. He shifted on the old, springy sofa to look at Moz properly. His eyes scanned every feature on Moz's face eagerly.

  
"Yeah?" he whispered. "I feel peaceful too. Which is odd. I feel so much adrenaline at the same time. Right now. My veins are singing because you're so close to me."

  
"They are?" Moz asked gently. He reached down to hold Johnny's wrist in his larger hand, pulling it close to his face to inspect it. He could feel Johnny's delicate bones under his hands.

  
Moz traced every feature of Johnny's hand and wrist, from his endearingly bitten fingernails, down his endless, spindly, talented, pale fingers, up and over every one of the hills that were his knuckles, Moz's fingers idly tracing the lines on his palm. They travelled further, making their way from his hand to his skeletal wrist. Moz followed the irresistible blue lines that were his veins and imagined them thrumming and singing and the valves inside them opening and closing and Johnny's heart beating because of him.

  
"You're beautiful," Johnny said. When Moz looked up in surprise, Johnny had moved so much closer than before. They were almost pressed together. Morrissey hadn't initially felt the atmosphere change, but now it hit him like a ton of bricks. His breath caught.

  
"God. I can't even handle it you're so beautiful, Moz," Johnny closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

  
"Thank you," Moz felt his throat close up tightly and he gripped Johnny's wrist harder, until Johnny moved and pressed their palms together, interlocking their fingers. Johnny smiled and huffed an awed laugh.

  
"I can't believe I'm touching you like this. I'm holding your hand right now," Johnny whispered reverently.

  
Johnny's eyes opened and met his, and Moz couldn't believe the sheer volume of the love, respect, affection and desire he could see aimed at him. He was sure the same was reflected in his own clear blue eyes.

  
"I can't believe it either." Moz replied, experimentally flexing his long digits and watching raptly as Johnny's moved to accomodate them. Then he squeezed the hand in his tightly and pulled it to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to Johnny's knuckles, seeing the white bone underneath. He was suddenly struck with how fragile Johnny was. How fragile they both were.

  
"I shouldn't be doing this." Johnny muttered. "You must be so hurt right now. I don't want to take advantage of you. Not now, not ever, Moz."

 

"No, you're making me feel better." 

 

Johnny looked no less troubled at his words.

  
"And..." Morrissey pursed his lips together. "I want you to hold my hand. I wanted you to hold my hand yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. I wanted you to last month. I wanted you to when I was with James, and before James. I wanted you to hold my hand the day I met you. Probably even before that."

  
Morrissey felt slightly sick admitting this, and clenched Johnny's hand in his even tighter, fearing that he would try to pull away.

  
"Really?" Johnny asked. His voice was deep, warm and quiet.

  
"Yes. I've always wanted to kiss you, too."

  
"I feel the same way about you. I want to kiss your neck."

  
"My neck?" Morrissey smiled, it lighting up his face, and met Johnny's eyes warmly. Johnny nodded.

  
"Yeah." Johnny's eyes flicked down to his neck. "It's long and pale. And unmarked. I want to mark you up."

  
Morrissey imagined it and felt his eyes slip closed. He swallowed heavily, and he could almost feel Johnny watching his Adam's apple bob daintily as he did so.

  
"Mm. I can imagine how you would look, your pretty pale torso covered in bites and bruises from my teeth and fingers. Your collarbones flushed pink and your neck positively devoured. There won't be an inch of you I won't have marked when I'm done with you."

  
"Oh, God, Johnny." Morrissey whimpered. Johnny crowded in close, breathing heavily.

  
"Are you imagining it?"

  
"Yes, yes. I want it."

  
"You wanna wear my marks, Moz?"

  
"Johnny, yes."

  
Morrissey opened his eyes and saw Johnny, so deliciously close to him, his hand clenched tightly by his side and his eyes shut. _Perfect._

  
"I can't handle it when you say my name, Moz. I just..." Johnny exhaled shakily.

  
Morrissey untangled their hands and reached up to card both his hands through Johnny's messy black hair. He sat up properly and leaned in close, so close that he could smell the leftover alcohol from earlier in the evening when Johnny breathed. It made him stop.

  
"You're not drunk, are you?" He asked.

  
Johnny opened his eyes. He planted his hands on Moz's shoulders and leant forwards until their foreheads were pressed together. Moz felt their points of contact scream.

  
"God, no. I'm here. I'm here with you." Johnny said. "Why, are _you_ drunk?"

  
"I'm not drunk." he answered, and then giggled inexplicably. Johnny began to giggle too, his eyes warm, he looked so happy, and Morrissey was so devoted to him.

  
"You're ridiculous." Johnny addressed Moz's unexpected bout of childish laughter.

  
"I'm happy."

  
"I am, too." Johnny's eyes grew dark. "Would it be alright if I were to kiss you right now?

"  
Morrissey's heart leapt and his eyes slipped closed. He felt so goddamn nervous, so endlessly afraid because this feeling, this experience and emotion and person was what he had been waiting for, his whole life. He was not sure what he had done to earn this but he was so, so grateful. At the same time, his entire body ached with desire and the beginnings of lust and _yes, of bloody course you can kiss me._

  
"Of course," he replied.

  
"Are you sure?" Johnny asked.

Morrissey heard what went unsaid - _once we do this, there is no going back. I don't know if I can take seeing you be with somebody else after you had been with me. There's no one for me but you. I want to spend tonight and tomorrow and the rest of my life and my death next to you. But I am afraid._

  
"Johnny. Yes. Yes to all of it."

  
Morrissey felt more aware of Johnny than he'd ever been of anything else before, from the very ends of his fingertips to the hot body heat that Johnny and he were sharing. He had watched Johnny talk and eat and bite that plump bottom lip, felt curls of desire fester within him every time, but when Johnny's lips met his for the first time it was like nothing else he'd ever felt or even imagined feeling before.

  
Johnny tried to be gentle, Morrissey felt it - he felt the way Johnny pulled back from their initial contact to gently brush their lips together for a moment, to presumably give Morrissey a chance to adjust. Then Moz's hands tightened in Johnny's hair and tugged. Johnny let out a low groan, and his fingers dug into Moz's back where they were gripping his shoulders.

  
They let go, and they travelled slowly down the angles of his body. One rested at his waist, until Johnny had one arm wrapped around him, and the other stayed on Moz's shoulder. He used that hand to gently push Morrissey back until he was splayed beneath Johnny on his massive, springy couch and Johnny was atop him, kissing him furiously and making low groaning noises under his breath that made Morrissey heat with pleasure.

  
Morrissey's hands stayed tangled in Johnny's hair, pressing and pulling and tugging the soft black strands. Johnny disconnected their kiss to catch his breath, leaning over Moz.

  
"Fuck. _Fuck_ , Moz. You're _under_ me. God, you look so fucking beautiful right now. All flushed and panting. Are you hard?"

  
Morrissey gasped. "I- I am."

  
"Oh, fuck. _Yeah,_ I can feel you against me. So bloody hot."

  
"Yes, _yes_ , Johnny." Morrissey whimpered.

  
"Shit. You sound so good. Like an angel. Yes, baby, I want to hear the pretty noises I can coax out of you."

  
Johnny leant down and began attacking his neck. He dragged his teeth across it in long stripes, and then traced the lines with his tongue, leaving a wet, red mark. Then he licked another long stripe, making Morrissey whimper and grip the back of his head because it felt so bloody good, and then Johnny attached his mouth to it and sucked hard. Morrissey gasped.

  
Johnny continued to lather and suck marks all over his neck in a possessive frenzy. He left purple and pink and red bruises spotted along his collarbones, pulling Morrissey's shirt down and eventually off and onto the floor (after checking if it was alright with him). Johnny had to speak when he saw Moz's bare torso.

  
"Moz, fuck, you're so bloody gorgeous. Look at you. Gonna be thinking about this for the rest of my life. How you feel against me. What the curves of your lips look and feel like, how your skin is blazing hot against mine. The way you sound. _Fuck_ , the way you sound." Johnny groaned and Morrissey whimpered again.

  
"Talk to me, baby. What do you want? We can always stop if you want to. There's no pressure at all. I feel so bloody lucky to have you like this, I thought I would never get to. But I don't want to pressure you or make you do something you're not completely sure about, either."

  
Morrissey swallowed and licked his lips, loving the way Johnny followed the movement raptly. He felt powerful.

  
"I want..." he began. Johnny's hand moved into his hair and gently massaged the back of his head comfortingly. He leant forward and pressed a kiss to Morrissey's forehead. Moz couldn't believe how warm he felt inside.

  
"I want you to touch me." he managed to finish.

  
Johnny pulled back and grinned, sultry. "Yeah? Your cock?"

  
Nervous, Morrissey just nodded.

  
The other boy simply pressed another kiss to his forehead, and then his eyelids, then his temples. Johnny kissed his nose, making Morrissey laugh, the sound endlessly warm and loving, his long arms encompassing Johnny's neck. Johnny's lips then met his, and they kissed together for a long while, Morrissey able to explore and learn without feeling too embarrassed or overwhelmed.

  
"I want that too. To touch your cock." Johnny groaned.

  
His hands moved from the back of Moz's head to his neck, lightly pressing, before travelling down his shoulders and then to his torso. Johnny's adept fingers lightly dusted his exposed nipples and Morrissey mewled. Johnny looked up.

  
"You like it when I touch you here?" he asked. His voice was low and heavy, almost gravelly. Morrissey felt himself heat up and flush when he heard it. Johnny flicked his left nipple, quickly turning the soft, pink nub hard and sensitive. Moz moaned.

  
"So goddamn pretty," Johnny muttered quietly, almost to himself.

  
With no warning he leant down and attached his mouth to Moz's hardened nipple, licking and sucking and biting, so hard that Morrissey had no choice but to let out surprised yelps and mewls and groans. He was unsure of what to do with his hands - half of him was okay with leaving them embedded in Johnny's soft hair, especially as Johnny seemed to love it so much, but his own cock was aching and he was desperate for release.

  
"Oh, Johnny! Please, _please-_ "

  
Johnny unattached himself to breath heavily on Moz's torso, looking up at him with dark eyes.

  
"Yes, just like that, baby. I love it when you beg."

  
Morrissey's back arched with pleasure and he moaned loudly and unexpectedly when Johnny tweaked his right nipple with one hand, twisting it. Johnny watched the way Moz's head was resting on the armrest and his chest rose with each strangled, deep inhalation and he had to swear under his breath.

  
"Johnny, please, please, touch my cock. Touch me, please! No one's touched me before, you can be the first. Ruin me for anyone else and make me yours, Johnny, please."

  
Morrissey felt fumbling, shaky hands scramble to open his jeans and reach around his cock. He let out one long, drawn out, high-pitched moan when Johnny began to pump his cock, using his pre-come as lube, and when that was of less abundance, Johnny pulled his hand back up to spit in it and then returned it to Morrissey's hard cock. _Fuck, that shouldn''t be hot,_ Morrissey thought. _Why was that so hot?_

  
"You want me to make you mine?" Johnny's free hand grabbed Morrissey's and he tangled their hands together. He pressed a wet kiss to every one of Morrissey's fingers and then held his hand against his face lovingly, closing his eyes. For Moz, seeing this, combined with the feeling of Johnny on top of him and his hand wrapped around his dick, the low sting of Johnny's teeth on his neck, made Morrissey's climax grow close.

  
"You are _mine,_ Moz. No one else gets to see you like this, or hear you like this. Your cock is mine. Your hands are mine. Your neck and your ass and your long, long legs are mine. Your voice is mine, and I want to know that everybody out on stage will see you, the way you move and the sounds you make and they'll want you and lust after you just like I have and still will, forever, but the only person who will ever touch you and make you feel the best you ever could will be me. And it will always be me, because I'll always be yours, and you will always be mine."

  
"Johnny, Johnny! Ah, I'm so close. Yes, yes, I'm yours."

  
"Say it again. I want you to know it and remember."

  
"I'm yours. I-I'm yours, Johnny, just you, I'm yours!"

  
Johnny's hand sped up where it was getting him off, and Morrissey's free hand which wasn't still interlocked with Johnny's was gripping the back of the boy's head tightly. Johnny looked almost feral, his eyes dark with desire, locked onto Morrissey's face, flicking between his eyes and his mouth and his long dark lashes when Moz had to squeeze his eyes shut in pleasure, when Johnny did something especially good like running his thumb over the shaft, pooling up his precome and using that to lubricate his touch, or under the head to press there and hold it, or up the large vein on the underside, all making Morrissey mewl and groan and pant and writhe.

  
"Love how you look right now, baby, fucking writhing under me. Just for me, yeah?"

  
"Yes, of course. Only for you. Make me feel so good, always."

  
"I want to make you feel good, want to make you feel fucking amazing. Can't believe how lucky I am. I'm so lucky to have you like this, can't believe you're letting me touch you and see you and hear you."

  
"I trust you, Johnny." Moz panted. "I'm - I'm getting close," he warned.

  
"Yes, yes. I want you to come. I wanna see you come underneath me. Please, Moz, yeah, let me see how your face looks and the moans you'll make, and I'll know that I'm the one who did that to you and the only one who ever has."

  
Then Morrissey came hard - his toes curled and he felt his underwear dampen and Johnny still atop him. Pleasure washed over him in waves, making his hands shake, one gripping Johnny's and the other hand twisted into the couch's headrest next to his head. He let out a long wail, and then, "Johnny, Johnny, yes!".

Sweat dripped down his forehead, across his furrowed brow, which Johnny moved forward to press a kiss to, groaning into Morrissey's skin, kissing his browbone and his temples and his nose, before moving to take Moz's lips in a bruising kiss again. They kissed heatedly.

  
"So bloody beautiful. Even more gorgeous than I imagined. Jesus," Johnny cursed under his breath.

  
Then he fell onto Morrissey, limp and exhausted. The two breathed heavily for a moment, their shared breaths hot against each other's skin, Johnny's head tucked under Morrissey's head, resting on his bare chest.

  
For a few minutes they stayed in that position, Morrissey serving as a pillow for Johnny and loving it.

  
"I'm sorry," Johnny said, his voice muffled where his face was pressed into Moz's chest. Moz felt his heart tighten painfully, and his brain was immediately undertaken with terrified thoughts; _does he regret it? Did he even mean what he said? How could I have been so stupid to misinterpret it? Was he lying, and he's still drunk?_

  
"Why are you sorry?" Morrissey asked reproachfully. He was afraid of the answer.

  
Johnny sighed.

  
"I said stupid shit. I don't own you. Well. I want you to be mine. I don't want you to be with anybody else, because the thought of you being with someone who isn't me makes me want to throw up, punch someone _hard_ and cry at the same time. But you decide who you belong to, whether that's me, or not me and somebody else..." Johnny paused. "Or yourself, and nobody at all. I want it to be your decision, and I forced it onto you just then. I'm sorry."

  
Moz wrapped his arms around Johnny completely, and hugged him tightly. He felt a burst of love and affection, feeling so so grateful and lucky to have Johnny in his life.

  
"Johnny, it's completely alright. I want to be yours. I loved what happened, and I don't regret it. I'm completely devoted to you."

  
Johnny looked up from his chest, eyes wide. "You are?"

  
"Yes," Morrissey answered, his stomach flipping when he spoke. "Absolutely and unconditionally, I am in love with you."

  
The other boy's answering grin had a hesitant smile appearing on Moz's face.

  
"I love you, Moz. So much. Fuck." Johnny leant up to bring their mouths together again and they kissed leisurely.

  
"Oh, yeah. Your come." Johnny removed his hand from Moz's underwear and brought it to his lips. It was coated with Morrissey's clear white seed, and Johnny moaned at the sight of it. The sound made Moz twitch inside his jeans despite the evidence of his last orgasm in front of his eyes.

  
Johnny stuck his tongue out to drag it up one long finger, letting the come collect on his tongue and enter his mouth, swallowing it. The boy shut his eyes and moaned, sucking Morrissey's come off every finger he had coated with it, until his hand was entirely clean.

  
"You taste good," he said. Morrissey licked his lips and twitched again.

  
A thought made him stop though, and his previous fears and insecurities return - had he helped Johnny reached his own climax?

  
"Did you come?" Morrissey asked.

  
He watched Johnny flush pink in the dark of the living room.

  
"Uh." He coughed. "I did."

  
Moz blinked, surprised. "Did you?"

  
"Yeah. You looked... hot."

  
Morrissey felt relieved and surprised, relaxing back into the sofa.

  
"I feared I would be an unsatisfying lover."

  
"Who told you that?" Johnny's fists clenched and he looked angry again.

  
"Myself. And James, cheating on me."

  
Johnny growled at the man's name. His hands sneaked around Morrissey's waist and held him possessively.

  
"He's a fucking dickhead who never deserved you. You're worth so much more than him, Moz. You aren't unsatisfying at all. You're the hottest, most gorgeous person I've ever seen, and I came without you even having to touch me. You're wonderful."

  
Morrissey flushed. "Thank you, Johnny. You are beautiful, too."

  
Johnny grinned. "Thanks. Love you."

  
"I love you too."

  
"Not that I don't like talking to you, because it's one of my favourite things to do ever, but can we go to sleep now?"

  
"Yes, we can. Goodnight, Johnny."

  
"Goodnight."

  
...

  
"I love you, Moz."

  
"I love you, too."

  
-

  
They were practising in their shitty hired practise room with the uncomfortable stools again, and Andy hadn't seen Mozzer this happy for months.

  
He was a bundle of energy. His eyes kept flicking back to Johnny, like magnets, hardly allowing him any time to pay attention to their songs, but the near constant happy grin and blush on his neck made it impossible for Andy to feel angry at him.

  
Johnny's playing was still impeccable despite the fact that he hadn't taken his eyes off of Moz the whole time. If Andy was honest with himself, though, it wasn't like anything had changed. Johnny had never stopped staring at Moz even when they weren't together.

  
Oh, yeah, because they were _together_ now.

  
_Together!_ Like a couple! _Finally!_ Jesus, took them long enough, he thought.

  
Andy was happy for them, truly, no matter how fucking annoying it was that they wouldn't stop talking about the other ("Andy, my God, I'm in love!" "I should hope so, mate.", or "Does Johnny ever talk about me?" "Only all the time, Moz." "Really? ... What does he say?" "You don't even want to know. The things I've had to hear, oh my God." "I am assuming they are of a sexual nature?" "We aren't talking about this, no!"), or that he became something of a third wheel when Mike wasn't around, leaving him to deal with Johnny and Moz and their inescapable loving touches and words and sickening loveliness that made him puke.

  
It was enough that Johnny seemed to find Moz sexually appealing whatever he was doing, and Andy means _whatever,_ (Moz could trip up on his shoelaces and Johnny would still lick his lips and have his eyes hooded that way and Andy would just _know_ and he was going to _vomit_ ) but Moz seemed to enjoy teasing Johnny on stage.

  
And that meant Andy had to deal with Morrissey ripping his shirt off 2 songs into their gig, moaning obscenely into the microphone, laying on the stage itself and allowing the crowd to shower gladioli and other flowers onto him like confetti.

  
To Andy, it was extremely uncomfortable to watch, as Moz was his friend and he had no interest in his seduction tactics, but to Johnny it must've been mouth-wateringly alluring to watch his boyfriend writhing on the stage shirtless, sweaty due to the lights and breathing heavily, eyes hooded as he stared at Johnny under the aforementioned lights.

  
It seemed to affect Johnny profoundly, anyway. Judging by the way he would swear and curse under his breath (no one else could hear it but Andy, and boy, _didn't he feel lucky!)_ , bite his lip and abandon his guitar to dance with Moz during Barbarism. How nobody had guessed that the two were an item yet... was everyone an idiot? Look at them, for God's sake!

  
Despite all of this, though, Andy still found himself extremely happy for his friends.

It had taken them ages to get together, and neither of them had ever looked happier and Andy doubted they would be happier with anyone else.

(Not that Johnny would ever let Moz go, not after James, he was sure.)

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> wooooo thank u for reading aa!
> 
> remember to leave ur prompts + concrit + opinions below, it motivates me sm and helps me improve! plus i will probs write what u ask for, if i have the time lmao  
> bye!


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